Warmth
by thedictophone
Summary: Sharing is caring - possibly a new concept to Arthur. (Oneshot, intonations of Merlin/Arthur)


It was late. Merlin was aware of this, but unfortunately his brain didn't seem to comprehend that the darkness swallowing indicated that he should be asleep. Instead, he was listening to Arthur breathing; a snuffling, steady sound that indicated a deep sleep. How he was managing it, Merlin hadn't a clue; the ground was hard under his side and however he positioned himself he seemed to be lying on some knobbly tree root.

'We'll make camp here and set out for Camelot at dawn,' Arthur had said; pompously and frustratingly – sensibly. The fight yesterday had gone well, and Arthur had managed it with all the diplomacy and honour Merlin could have expected from him. Merlin was used to Arthur being insufferable whenever he managed to pull off something like this, but he was increasingly finding him to be relatively modest. Well, sort of. He had accepted his knights' praise and sent Merlin off to put together a soup, but he had done it in a fairly unobnoxious fashion.

Now it was the dead of night, with nothing for Merlin to listen to but Arthur's gentle snores and the rustle of the surrounding trees. The knights were asleep some distance away. The moon glistened through the branches above as Merlin nestled his face further into his blanket. It smelt of horse and dust and hay. He sighed. Perhaps he'd go for a walk. Stretching, he threw the blanket off himself and stood up.

The leaves crunched underfoot, but there wasn't much else to find to entertain him in the immediate vicinity. He trod through the trees in a vague circle for a while, kicking at loose stones and hoping that the cold air currently whipping through the stitches of his shirt would either die down or somehow refresh him enough to force him into slumber.

It was some time later that he made his way back to his blanket, the leaves whispering around his feet. He shivered as he moved to lie down.

'Where have you been?'

Merlin slipped on a clump of leaves and landed without grace on his ankle. 'Arthur!'

Arthur propped himself up on an elbow and looked over at his servant, one eyebrow raised. 'If you've been wandering the forest making up lovelorn poetry, Merlin, I may have to relieve you of your duties.'

'I wasn't,' Merlin confirmed, yanking his blanket over himself and flopping down unnecessarily hard on the ground, facing away from Arthur.

'Well, good. Although I don't know what else would take so long. Must've been some almighty piss.'

'Ha, ha.'

They led in silence for another minute. Merlin expected Arthur to go straight back to sleep, but –

'Merlin, are you _shivering_?'

'It's _cold_. Not everyone's got fur-lined blankets, thanks very much.'

'Or the warmth of a satisfactory victory in their belly.'

All right, forget modesty.

There was another silence.

'Merlin, if your teeth don't stop chattering I won't get another wink of sleep till morning.'

'It's not something I can _help_, Arthur.'

The prince gave an almighty sigh, as if committing himself to a dreadful yet necessary task.

'Come here, then.'

Merlin blinked into his horsey smelling blanket. 'What?'

'Come _here_.'

Merlin rolled over to stare at Arthur. '_Where_?'

'Here!' Arthur pulled back the fur-lined blanket covering him, wide enough to cover two or – as it had been – tightly furl around one. 'And hurry up, the cold air's getting in.'

'But –'

'This is a direct order, Merlin. _I need to sleep_.'

Having no real argument, and really feeling quite curious about the magic of the fur-lined blanket, Merlin scuttled over.

'There,' said Arthur, flinging the blanket over his manservant and rolling over with a _humph_, 'Now be quiet.'

It was still some time before Merlin managed to sleep.

When he came to, it was not quite morning; the sky was pitched through with that brightness just prior to night elapsing, and there was a sense of birds stirring in their nests, not quite awake enough to sing. The forest was silent but for a light breeze, and a warm breath on Merlin's neck.

It took him a moment to remember where he had fallen asleep, but as he did he came to acknowledge Arthur's hand gently clasping the side of his jacket, his other arm pressed against his back; his head close enough for his breaths to tickle the backs of Merlin's ears. Merlin felt a smile creep across his face – not a mocking smile, not a 'oh, your highness needs a night time comfort, does he' – a real smile, a genuine feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the fur-lined blanket. His lips almost cracked with it, dry as they were from the night air.

Trying to compose himself, Merlin attempted to turn his head to look at Arthur, but couldn't reach. Instead, he slowly rotated his body so that he was lying on his back. He thought Arthur's arm might fall away, but it moved closer, the prince's hand grasping at the front of his shirt. His face was also much closer than Merlin had anticipated, his eyes closed, oblivious, his breath warm on Merlin's face.

All at once, Merlin became aware of the position they were in. Together, under one blanket, warming each other through the night. Arthur's arm draped across his body, his lungs and heart working just a foot away, not boasting or mocking or joking – just there, Safe and near. It pulled at that smile again.

It was perhaps, unsafe. The knights would never let him live it down. And worse, they'd carry it back to Camelot. As much as Merlin found himself disgruntled at the thought, he'd have to extract himself.

The problem was how. If he removed himself entirely, he would surely cause a breeze that would wake Arthur, which he knew from experience was not a particularly wise move. He could remove Arthur's arm from his stomach, but there was still a risk of Arthur wakening with a loud admonishment.

There was another option, it occurred to him. Taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes so as to look as deeply asleep as possible, he coughed loudly in the direction of Arthur's face. He felt Arthur twitch, presumably awakened; heard a breath held in his throat before it escaped him in a small sigh.

He had planned for Arthur to wake, realise the situation, and resolve it quietly before the morning. What he had not anticipated was for Arthur's grip on his shirt to strengthen, for a finger to stroke briefly at his belly. He felt Arthur's forehead lowered to touch his shoulder with another sigh.

Then he rolled over, away, and Merlin felt the cold absence of his hand, his forehead, his breath. His cough had probably not woken him at all. He'd reached out in his sleep for something warm, and found Merlin. Coincidence.

Probably.


End file.
